The World Undone
by Lucibelle
Summary: Harry Potter has faced Voldemort in the final battle...and lost. Voldemort now has free reign over the world. But is there someone left who can face the insurmounatble odds and bring salvation? And what will happen, should love interfere with destiny?SOC
1. The Final Battle

Chapter 1  
  
The fight was over.  
  
In the black hours of that morning, before the sun had even the chance to show herself above the horizons, lifting toward the heavens to chase the stars away, bringing with her the light of day, the ultimate of good and the ultimate of evil fought for the remainder of the world. Harry Potter fulfilled the prophecy of the age, and faced the dark lord Voldemort with only the knowledge that one of them would die. It was believed that during the course of this last battle, the earth in her eternal motion around the sun stopped rotating completely, and stood at a standstill, the galaxy frozen in anticipation, to see the end of a great power. The stars watched closely, ready to spell out destiny amongst themselves. The fate of the world hung in the balance. It would only be a matter of time, a matter of strength. In time, the stronger would win. Good faced evil with blunt earnestness to rival the malice of hell.  
  
But it was on this day that good was lost. Voldemort won. Evil won. Harry Potter fell. And the sun rose over the Earth to find that during her absence great changes had been made. Great awakenings of some things, and perhaps the deaths of others.  
  
But this was the world now. The good left alive had to question their firm beliefs in destiny, for was not destiny always fulfilled? They wondered whether they had any place on this Earth, this breeding ground for hate and anger. For evil. Was this the end? Was this the final way?  
  
The world had come undone.  
  
A/N: I know this is more like a preface than a chapter, but I'm entering it as Chapter 1 anyway. I promise the continuation of the story will not be so vague (. Oh, and this stands for this chapter, and all those that follow: I am not JK Rowling, I never was and never will be, Harry Potter is not my story, and almost all of the characters, places, things, etc. mentioned throughout the story belong to her indefinitely. Oh, and I won't be making a lot of A/N, I know they get annoying! 


	2. Awakening

Chapter 2  
  
The winds were cold and icy, and went directly to his bones, as he rode toward the castle that night. The skies were black and dead, with no moon, and a few fading stars, nothing but the empty void surrounding his form. Silence hung in the air, with the exception of the dull sound of hooves hitting against the earth, a cape billowing behind, and the ragged breathing of the haggard man riding the stallion.  
Severus Snape pulled on the reins of the black horse, riding faster and more furiously toward Hogwarts castle, up the long winding road from Hogsmeade. The freezing gusts caused his eyes to tear, and his chest heaved with each shallow breath. It was only a little further, he told himself. His long black hair was flowing behind him, wild strands flying in front of his eyes, clouding his vision. His mind raced with anticipation, terror, regret, and anger. He knew what was happening. He had felt reality searing into him, white hot, piercing his flesh, his head, his heart. It seared directly into his forearm, making visible his mark of shame, his own "scarlet letter." It was this brand that had brought about his recent departure from the school in the first place. And, in serving its office, it was this brand that had called him back on this night.  
But it was not for the originally intended reasons. He was not returning to honor Voldemort. He was returning to face him, and his fears. He would not hide any longer. He would fight not in the shadows, as he did as a spy for so many years. He would fight alongside those who had nothing to hide.  
When news of Voldemort's new strength had first reached Hogwarts, there was little time for action. It was soon found that the dark lord's powers had finally grown to exceed those of Dumbledore. The castle was no longer a safe haven, and a great war would take place. Muggle-borns immediately began to go into hiding, to go home, wherever they stood a chance. They knew Voldemort would be swiftly at their heels. At the same time, not ironically, members of the Slytherin household began to vanish. They were retreating to their master, as it had always been known that they would, should the wizarding world see such times. Dumbledore, in his ancient power and grace, had called for an urgent meeting. The old man stood before the professors of Hogwarts, and Harry Potter, in the staff room the night before. Dancing flames in the fireplace illuminated his face, his whole body, which now looked like something of a deeply-rooted, twisted tree, that had stood proudly for many years, and now bowed to winters frost and the tempest's winds. His eyes were glazed, his face solemn. He spoke steadily to his council, explaining the present situation, and what must happen. He knew Voldemort was coming. Voldemort and his army of death eaters, giants, demons and dementors. They would reach the castle walls, and no enchantment would ever keep them out. He turned to Harry Potter, a boy barely 17 years of age, and asked him if he knew what he must do. Harry knew it was written in the prophecy. Only one would stand, after the fight. The final fight. For neither could survive while the other lived.  
The student body was addressed, parents were apparating to Hogsmeade, looking to take their children home. Some of the students had decided to stay, to fight, to take a stand. Dumbledore was staying, all of the teachers were. The next day was spent saying goodbyes to those who were fleeing for their lives. An army of aurors and witches and wizards alike was gathered within the very walls of the castle. The place was in an uproar, a complete and utter frenzied chaos. Hermione Granger's sobs could be heard from the Gryffindor common room, as she paced the girl's dormitory, in fear for her life as a muggle-born, and for Harry Potter. She and Ron had always done what they could to help Harry in his encounters with the dark lord. But those times had passed. She now had no place beside him. But she refused to leave, nonetheless. She and Ron would be there, to face whatever would come.  
Sometime during that day, Severus Snape had felt that familiar, nauseating pain. The Dark Mark. The skull like shrapnel in his skin. Clutching his forearm, he disappeared into a corridor. The terror had simply overwhelmed him. He had seen first hand what Voldemort was capable of, what he had been capable of before his new power. He did not know what caused this power he had gained, but Severus could feel it, somehow, with every blinding flash of pain that evil mark sent through him. Voldemort was growing closer, calling for all death eaters, for all evil forces to join him in his final attempt to take the world for his own. And he was coming for Snape, the one who had deserted him.  
And so Severus had flown. He ran, as far away as he could apparate, once in Hogsmeade. He couldn't face the dark lord. His cowardice grabbed hold of him, and he began to envy the dead. He traveled through time and space, it seemed, into other hemispheres, where it was already the following day. This thought irked him some. According to this standard, the battle was last night and probably over. But it was not, in reality. It would be starting soon.  
He felt bitter tears cloud his eyes, and his mind raced with horrible vision, of his childhood, his days as a death eater, worshipping the being from which he now ran. It was at this time that Severus Snape realized why he ran, while all the others stayed to fight, why fury with himself could not compete with blind terror. He saw his life quite clearly then, though he did not even know for sure where he exactly was at that moment. But he saw his life, his value.  
He was nothing.  
He did not fight, because he had nothing to fight for. Anger, hatred, and even, dare I say it? loneliness, had consumed his soul, in its entirety, and nothing was left but the bitter shell of a wasted life. He stared numbly at his hands, with their long slender fingers, raw white knuckles.he knew well that never once had those hands made or done anything that was beneficial to the world. More bitter tears came. Oh, what a pathetic excuse for existence! He had spent his life in defense, outsmarting everyone, threatening them with curses, hexes. But now he was alone. Alone, with nothing to speak for him but his own cowardice. It was at that moment he decided to make a vital change. A change that would effect the rest of his life, and quite possibly end it. He would go back and fight, with any bit of strength he had left. And should he die, it would only mean that he would not have to endure his self-loathing any longer.  
And so now he rode back at lightning speed, riding a horse he had found tied to a fence in the now deserted town of Hogsmeade. He tore off into the night, a darting shadow, challenging the coming of the dawn. He would arrive there, but quite hopefully, not too late. And he silently prayed, to the nothingness, that his ride was not in vain. 


	3. The Drums of War

Chapter 3  
  
Severus was drawing nearer and nearer to the castle, his leaden heart sinking, it seemed, into the pit of his stomach. Instinctively, he wanted to turn and ride off in the other direction. But he was so determined at this point that nothing could lure him into running away again.  
Each gallop brought him closer to the dark lord, with every breath his look grew more steely, yet his nerves weaker. But he would not fail. Not this time.  
In the distance stood what appeared to be a blackened shadow on a hilltop, a massive edifice, and an ancient structure. Hogwarts castle. A school, a peaceful place, always somewhere that the student and weary traveler alike could find a friend, and help, whenever it was needed. But not this night.  
Severus could hear the drums of war, so it seemed, from the great distance at which he stood. He heard the sound of armies clashing, spells being thrown, screams of the dying, screams of the triumphant. He could faintly smell, swirling about him in the air, the scent of brimstone and ash. And if one could ever say safely that they could hear fire, the roar of the unearthly flame, so Severus Snape could on this night.  
For a moment he paused and listened to the battle's dying echo, so far off that he could fall into oblivion and allow the faint noise to die away. He breathed so silently that he may have stopped breathing altogether. To see the world come to this. Hogwarts, always proud, always safe. Her halls now a battleground, her students' blood spilt on her prestigious floors and tapestries. And now Dumbledore had fallen. Or had he?  
Thinking of Dumbledore, the reality and urgency came back to him swiftly. The world came back into focus, and without a second thought, Severus Snape kicked his horse with his heel and sped toward Hell.  
The grounds passed by him in a swirling blur, his eyes directly on his destination. He had not prepared, exactly, how he would enter, and what he would do. Suppose Voldemort had already won? Suppose.?  
Severus was not given time to finish that thought. At that moment, a deafening bang sounded, and the ground shook. Severus's horse reared up and whinnied, throwing Severus roughly onto the ground. The spooked creature fretted, nearly crushing Severus with one of its hooves, before taking off at top speed in the direction of the Forbidden Forest. Severus stood unsteadily, shaken from the fall, and the thunderous noise. The air was now filled with screams, the castle ablaze with flame and smoke, and the sky thick with blackened clouds in the shapes of skulls. It was then that he noticed the bodies dotting the ground, lying awkwardly here and there. Some were draped in the garb of death eaters - others, Hogwarts robes. Some were slain brutally, their corpses lying in pools of blood. But most wore only an expression of utter terror on their faces.  
Severus quickened his pace, among the dead, the dying. He heard the screams of those being tortured, and the constant chanting of the unforgivable curses. Lord Voldemort was inside. The dark lord, in flesh and bone, stood not far from where he himself stood at that moment. He reached into the pocket inside of his cloak, and clutched his wand fiercely. There were wizards dueling about him, but in a bloodthirsty, chaotic fashion. He saw, out of the corner of his eye, a wizard stripped of his wand, burning alive. This was his moment. His head swam with fear and anger, and the skull-shattering din of the ungodly screams piercing the cold night air. He turned once, to see a pink tinge laying on the horizon. He had been gone for too long. With a heartfelt scream, reverberating in his chest, he ran onward, diving into the battle, toward the doorway of the school, with no thought or reason, only pure emotion, the only emotion he had ever expressed truthfully, aside from disdain, perhaps in his entire life.  
In barely crossing the threshold, he was hit - BOOM- directly in the chest, with something that felt like an ice-cold ocean wave, crashing violently on the shore. He was blinded by a white light, and thrown backward.  
He felt his body become powerless, his limbs flailing uncontrollably. He felt a pain in his chest, only briefly, as he soared through the air, for how many feet, he was not sure. Within one second he felt the pain intensify, then weaken, and then slip away entirely. He felt his consciousness leaving him, the sights and sounds of war waning, and all light began to grow dim. Within one second, before his lifeless form could make contact again with the cold, hard ground, he knew no more. 


	4. Edynhall

The world was dark. No sound. No light. No warmth. Blackness. Was he breathing? He didn't know.  
  
"Hush...shh.still asleep." a voice from far away. Gentle. A little warmth.  
  
But distance took him again. A lapse in time and space. So far from his own body, his own voice. So vulnerable.  
  
"I think I saw him stir.shhh.let him rest." the voice again. A connection in the dark. He felt a slight pressure on his brow. A soft hand, lain across his forehead. A tender touch.  
  
A dim light, and the voice seemed not so far away. A dim golden light, blurred. Growing slowly. He felt his eyes open barely, so sore, so sensitive.  
  
Severus could not move. He felt the blackness of nothing disappear as he came into his own body again. Noises were dull and few, the light still dim and blurred. But he began to feel himself breathing again. The hand lifted from his forehead. But through the murkiness, he saw a human figure sitting above him.  
He knew nothing now, nothing but the simple concepts of light and dark, touch, movement, and breath. He had no memory nor conscious though of where he was, nor how he had come to be there.  
"Shh.." the same voice repeated. A woman's voice. So soothing. He let himself fall under the influence of his current state. He didn't fight his wavering unconsciousness. He struggled only to fill his lungs. "It's okay, it's alright. We're going to take care of you. You're going to be just fine."  
Severus was becoming more aware now. Still, he could not move his body. He could not yet see clearly, only fuzzy shapes, and some light. He wanted to ask where he was, what had happened to him. He wanted to know who, exactly, was "taking care of him." Why did he need to be taken care of? Why was he constantly being reassured that he would be alright, as if the chance had been slim?  
He felt a pain shoot up through his spine, all the way to the base of his neck, like an electric shock. He winced, though not noticeably, as he was still incapable of rigorous movement. He felt the hand once again on his forehead, brushing away careless strands of hair.  
But his memory, along with the feeling and energy, started to come rushing back to him. He was able to open his eyes wider, the pain in his spine diminished, and very stiffly, he moved his arms and legs.  
He remembered falling - well, more precisely, he remembered flying. He remembered a huge noise, a flash of great light. He remembered death, and fire. The war. The dark lord.  
He remembered a horse. A giant, black beast. He remembered riding with all of his might, racing the sun, drawing his wand.then.nothing.  
The room he was in became more and more visible to him. It was small, poorly lit, with a few oil lamps, and a small fire. It was almost like a dungeon, but it was more like - a cellar. He heard pipes creaking and groaning. Certainly a basement of some kind. He saw little or no furniture. He himself was laying on a very flat mattress, and he just now realized that he was draped in blankets. He still felt the damp, bitter cold, however.  
He turned his gaze toward the person directly in front of him. A young woman sat at his bedside, the owner of the voice, and the gentle hand. But she was in a significant amount of shadow. He could only see the outline of long hair, and a slender form, but her face was hidden in darkness.  
Finally, he attempted to speak, but in taking a great breath and trying to form words, he felt his chest seize, and he broke into a coughing fit.  
"It's okay...you'll be alright," the young woman repeated. Severus's coughing calmed, and he was able to whisper the words he'd been trying to.  
"Where.where am I? Why.what happened?"  
"He's awake! He's talking," another voice exclaimed, from farther away. A woman's voice also, but more high-pitched and slightly irritating.  
"Quiet," the first voice reprimanded. Much more soothing on the ears than the second. Then, she continued. "Severus, you had quite an experience. It's a miracle you're alive." ('Clearly,' thought Severus bitterly to himself, 'she doesn't know me.') " If you hadn't touched that portkey"-  
"Portkey?"Severus demanded hoarsely. Who was this woman, and what on earth was she talking about?  
"Let me go back. I'll explain what has happened to you. But first, my name is Christine Brindle. I was there that night, the night that the dark lord took the castle."  
Severus, though still groggy, listened intently. This woman Christine knew him. She knew his name. She knew of the war.but spoke of it as if it had happened long ago.  
"What day is it?" Severus inquired, almost frightened to hear the response. Had he died? Had he been born again?  
"Today is Sunday. Two weeks since the day you came to us here. You've been close to death for so long.but he told us to take care of you, keep watch over you. He values you very much."  
A new flood of questions filled the professor's mind, mainly now about who 'he' was. Not knowing where to begin asking, he kept silent, and allowed Christine's voice to wash over him as she continued with her story. He wanted to see her face, but it was still a shadow. He felt a sort of nervous energy about her.and in the back of his mind, he half suspected Christine to be Lord Voldemort himself, in sheep's clothing.  
"Severus, two weeks ago, the dark lord took Hogwarts castle. You saw the was with your own eyes. You knew from the start, I'm sure, that it was hopeless. Many on our side were killed. I think he may have lost a few death eaters, but there was no comparison. The battle ended with a Triple Collision: a combination spell of all the unforgivable curses. As you know, that spell, though very difficult to perform, is one that ends in complete destruction and death. I had seen the course of the fight, and presumed that Voldemort would use this curse to, well, finish us off. So a few of us left. We escaped using a portkey we'd set up beforehand as a precautionary, just outside of the castle's threshold. Dumbledore was saved, just in time, actually. He is with us.  
"You must have been thrown by the blast. You know the Triple Collision ends in enormous noise and light, a quite explosive reaction. Few rarely survive such a thing. You must have been just far enough away, and you hit that portkey at just the right time. The portkey was, well, a corpse. A dead auror, lying on the ground, a few feet away from the Hogwarts doors. The only thing Voldemort and his armies wouldn't want to destroy - something they'd already killed." Severus almost grinned at this cleverness, had it not been so morbid. "You were transported here. You are in Edynhall. This is our last secret haven. We are far underground now. That is why it is so cold. We are in the basement of a very nondescript muggle house. But, you will see, it has grown into something of an intricate city. This is where we hide, planning our liberty, gaining our strength. Everyday, more refugees are admitted." Christine's voice became filled with passion, and Severus listened intently, understanding more now. He was in a shelter, a hidden place. Edynhall, she had called it. And Dumbledore was still alive. He now knew how incredibly lucky he himself had been. He wondered how many were left.how many still lived to defy the dark lord. "I know you Severus, because Dumbledore told us who you are. He explained," she stopped here, but Severus knew she had seen his dark mark, and that Albus had "explained" it. "He told us how valuable you are. He gave us charge over your wellbeing. We lost hope, we thought for certain that nothing could bring you back. But here you are."  
Severus took all of this in carefully, in a state of mild shock. Hogwarts was taken. He had barely escaped death, and was now forced into hiding. He had been dead to the world for two weeks. But he was alive.  
Slowly he began to sit up, barely aware now that two others stood in the room, one a woman, the other a man. Things were becoming progressively clearer, and the room seemed to brighten, as if a cloud had been lifted. He heard another voice from the opposite end of the room, along with the sound of a door creaking open.  
"Brindle, urgent matters," a grave voice announced. Someone, a man, obviously, had just entered the room. "Council wants to see you at once."  
"Okay, night," Christine said calmly, standing from Severus's bedside, and turning away from him. A dancing flame from the fire threw a splash of light on her, but only for a second. But it was enough for Severus to recognize that she was attractive. Dark, but attractive. The light vanished, and she was once more a shadow.  
"Christine." the other woman began sadly.  
"I know, Marisol. But I must go. Until - until our next meeting, then. Severus, I apologize. Our encounter was brief. There is more to explain, I'm sure you have questions. This," motioning to the other woman in the room, "is Marisol. She's been helping me take care of you. As has Dylan." The man beside Marisol. "I must go now," she repeated, " Maybe.we'll meet again." Her voice trailed off, and she spun on her heel in the direction of the door, a black leather cape swishing wildly behind her. Two sets of footsteps, going off toward the dark. Christine left with the man called Knight. The door slammed shut, and the room grew silent again.  
Severus felt his joints seize as he moved his stiff, weary legs. Though still cold, he threw the blankets off and sat at the edge of the mattress. He was seeing clearly now, though his head was swimming. Marisol and Dylan approached him. He noticed how kindly everyone had been treating him. Quite unusual. He mainly owed this to the fact that the only things they knew about him were from Dumbledore, who rarely said a negative word about the worst of people. Also, his comatose state had made it impossible for him to sneer, scoff, or make any type of sarcastic comment within the past two weeks. They didn't know him at all.  
"I know this is a difficult time for you," Dylan said softly. He stood with Marisol, bathed in firelight. Severus was able to see the two quite clearly. Dylan looked to be about 60 years old, with gray grizzly locks that reached his shoulders, and a sort of scraggly beard. He spoke with a slight German accent. Marisol came up slowly behind him. She looked to be in her mid thirties, not particularly attractive, sort of rounded, with decidedly red hair. "Just try to make yerself comfortable , my good sir. You should be feeling better in no time. Then Albus'll want to see yer."  
Snape sat quietly for a moment. An expressive sneer spread across his face. "Hm. Let's hope so," he remarked dryly. "But I want to see Albus now. I need to discuss something with him. He's here?"  
"Well.no," Marisol said. "He's left, away on business, as I'm sure you'd have guessed."  
Severus sighed loudly. "Should have known. Tell me when he returns, if you don't mind." The professor, though recovering from a life threatening accident, still managed to keep that dull, sarcastic edge to his voice.  
"We'll leave you to rest some. You still haven't recovered all your strength," said Marisol, turning to exit the room.  
"It's late," added Dylan. "We'll be back in the morning." Severus wondered idly how they could possibly keep track of night and day so far underground.  
Quietly, the two left, and Severus was alone. He glanced once more around the dimly lit room, in Edybhall. He had so narrowly escaped death. But still, he questioned himself as to why. So many had died.so many who had fought, sacrificing their lives for a greater cause. These people, who had family, friends, loved ones. But why Severus? He hadn't even the chance to raise up his wand in defense of anything good. And yet, he'd survived to see another day. Once again, the anger, the grief, the frustration swam through his veins. If only he had Albus, at least, to confront.but he was alone.  
His distress was soon overcome by exhaustion and weakness. Maybe things would look a little brighter in the morning. He fell asleep regardless. 


End file.
